Blizzard Days
by Tumblermarshall
Summary: The newsies are snowed in, so to pass the time they tell the stories of how they got to the lodging house.
1. Intro

_Author's Note: Hey everyone! This is the first story in a presently 12 story series. Again, the newsies are snowed in, so to pass the time the girls tell the stories of how they got to the lodging house._

Five AM had come and gone by the time the Duane Street newsies started waking up. Confusion reigned until Jack looked out of the window and saw what he figured to be at least two and a half feet of snow. Nobody would be out selling papers that day.

"So, Jack, what's should wese do today?" Race called from his bunk.

"Hold on. Let me gets da goils."

"So how did dis whole goil t'ing start, anyways?" Snitch asked as the girls settled down in the boys' larger bunk room.

"Dat'd be all Tumblah's fault," Jack replied.

"Hey! Youse is very appreciative a me for dat! Wit' out me, dere'd be no goils hehah," Tumbler defended.

Tumbler glanced around at the others. Most of the newsies didn't know the full story, so the oldest of the newsies sat back, getting ready to tell the whole tale. _"It was the fall of 1898. Newsies ruled the streets of New York, or so it seemed. The city rang with their cries..."_

_Please, check out my website! http://www.geocities.com/tumblersnewsies/_


	2. Chapter 1

Who I Am Inside  
Chapter One

It was the fall of 1898. Newsies ruled the streets of New York, or so it seemed. The city rang with their cries.

Ronald Marshall, though most people knew him as Tumbler, was one of them. He was near eighteen, but he looked closer to fifteen. Eleven years of his life had been dedicated to the streets, carrying the banner. He'd seen many newsies come and go, some good, some bad, but none had the fire, the drive of Jack Kelly. Tumbler could remember fondly the first time Jack, or Cowboy, as he would later be known, tried to sell papers. He was a loud-mouthed ten-year-old, out for revenge on a world that had no respect for him. The two became fast friends, Tumbler only a year older.

Tumbler and Cowboy, the nickname earned from the oversized hat on his head, made quite a team. In less than a year they were off on their own, selling a hundred and fifty papers a day between them.

Tumbler had been the one to help Cowboy get out of the Refuge when he was twelve. No matter what Cowboy might say, it had been the two of them riding out under Teddy Roosevelt's carriage that night. Jack liked to say he did it by himself, but Tumbler was always there to correct the younger boy.

Less than a year later, Mikey, the head of the Manhattan newsies, decided it was time for him to move on to another, better, job. Most of the newsies expected a fight to break out over who would take over for him between Tumbler and Cowboy, but the two, along with Mikey, had made a decision earlier about it. They would work together, and Jack would be the head leader with Tumbler second in command. And everybody was okay with that plan.

The two new leaders were closer to each other than anyone else. Tumbler was the only person in the world that Jack trusted with all of his secrets; that he was really terrified that his father would try to come for him, that he'd be thrown in the Refuge again. That Santa Fe was really a front for him, a dream that he could use as a cover for those times when he would go distant, the times when he was remembering his childhood with his father the few times he wasn't in jail. But no matter how hard Jack tried, he couldn't get any information from Tumbler about his past.

Soon almost all of the newsies that had been there when Jack joined were gone, and a whole new wave of orphans and runaways were there. A couple of them even started calling Tumbler "the leader's leader." He was almost always seen right beside Jack, the two patrolling Manhattan and keeping their newsies safe. They both had their trademarks, too. Jack's were his hat and red bandanna, and Tumbler's was a pair of purple suspenders that, even slightly faded, still attracted attention. He never wore them properly, though, opting to just let them hang from his pants. Several of the boys adopted the style. (Think Mush and Dutchy) Tumbler could tell just by the looks on some of the boys' faces that he fascinated them. He never said anything about his past, but knew almost every boy's story, one way or another.

And though Tumbler and Jack were best friends, they were as opposite as they could be. Almost six inches shorter, but just as strong and powerful as Jack, Tumbler had a large presence. He unnerved people with his silent stare. He could tell by the way the younger boys were scared to look at him. And it was very beneficial to him, because he didn't want anyone getting so close that they would start asking questions about his past. Questions he didn't want to answer. So he didn't let anyone get close to him, save Jack. It was safer that way.

*~^~* 

_May, 1898_

_"Tumblah!"_

_"Whadda ya want, Cowboy?"_

_"Ya wanna take a wawk ta meet da new Brooklyn leadah?"_

_"Why should I?"_

_"Ta keep him from settin' his sights on Manhattan."_

_"I'se'll be down in a minute!" Tumbler turned to the Italian sitting across from him. "I'se'll be back. You owes me two bits, Race."_

_"Yeah, yeah. Youse'll get it when youse gets back."_

_"I'se bettah!" Tumbler and Jack left the lodging house at a good pace, setting out for Brooklyn. "So who's da new Brooklyn leader?"_

_"His name is Spot, so Ise hear. A lot like you."_

_"Like me? How?"_

_"Big presence, so dey tell me."_

_"Wese'll see." The two walked the rest of the way in silence._

_Tumbler's first impression of the Brooklyn leader was of a little boy trying to be a man. He was fourteen, if that, and the top of his head barely reached Tumbler's nose. He was scrawny, with thin legs and muscleless arms. But he had a hard, challenging look in his eyes, one that intimidated the other newsies around him. And if he could intimidate the tough Brooklyn newsies, then he was good._

_"Hi dere. I'se is Jack Kelly." Jack spit on his hand and held it out to the boy. "Me and Tumblah, here, wese is the Manhattan leaders."_

_"I'se is Spot Conlon." Spot mirrored Jack's actions and the two shook hands. "And youse is Tumblah?" He repeated his actions and he and Tumbler shook hands._

_The Brooklyn and Manhattan leaders formed a permanent bond that day._

*~^~* 

October, 1898

Spot, Jack, and Tumbler sat at a small table, along with Race and Skittery, playing poker. So far Race was winning, but that could change at any minute. Tumbler wasn't really paying attention, but when his biggest bet was only three cents, he didn't have to worry about losing much. His mind was stuck in the past.

*~^~* 

_April, 1897_

_Tumbler was the first to notice the boy standing nervously outside the lodging house door. He went over to him, but the boy refused to look up. "Ya here ta join?" Tumbler asked._

_"Yeah," came the quiet voice._

_"I'se is Tumblah, second in command 'round here. What's ya name?"_

_"It's uh..."_

_"You'se don't got ta tell me right away."_

_"Thanks." He looked up and Tumbler could see why he was trying to hide his face. His left eye was swollen almost completely shut, and what little of his eye that was visible was red._

_"You wanna..." Tumbler swallowed. "You wanna get somet'in' ta covah dat up?"_

_"Whatcha mean?" The boy was wary, Tumbler could tell._

_"A patch or somet'in'. I'se gots a friend dat sews stuff, she could make it for ya."_

_"Ya don't mind it?"_

_"Naw, why should I?"_

_"Cause I'm a freak?"_

_"No you'se ain't. I'se seen worse." Tumbler lied, but it put the boy at ease, so he didn't worry too much about it. "C'mon." Tumbler stepped away, but the boy didn't follow right away. Taking a wild guess as to why, Tumbler took his hat off and handed it to the boy, which he took gratefully. He pulled it down low over his eyes, so that it looked like he only had a black eye. The two wound up at Irving Hall. "Medda's a friend a mine, and she's got a goil that sews for 'er. She can make ya a patch real quick." Tumbler went in and the boy followed behind quietly. Past a flight of stairs he knocked on a door. A young girl opened it._

_"Hey, Tumbler. What are you doing here?"_

_"Me friend here, 'e needs a patch for 'is eye."_

_"Come on in." The two boys entered the room. "Everyone calls me Stitch, because I'm a seamstress. What's your name?"_

_"Robert," he answered softly._

_"'E's new, so 'e ain't gots a nickname yet," Tumbler added._

_"Come here," Stitch said softly. She had a piece of tan leather in her hand. Robert moved over to her, pulling Tumbler's cap off. She didn't comment on his eye, but Tumbler saw Stitch flinch when she got a clear view of it. "What happened?" She held the scrap up to his face, trimming it so that it went from his eyebrow to the top of his cheek and completely covered the hollow of his eye. She then cut two pieces of a dark brown tape and sewed them to the top corners of the patch. "All finished." Robert centered the patch over his eye then Stitch tied it at the back of his head._

_"It hurts to even blink," he whispered._

_"Dat's it!" Tumbler broke in. Wese'll call you Blink. Kid Blink."_

_"I'm not a kid."_

_"Too late. You'se been christened. How old is ya, anyway?"_

_"Fourteen."_

_"You'se is a kid."_

_"And you're so much older?"_

_"I'se is sixteen, and one a da oldest newsies here."_

_"Oh." He didn't back down, though._

_"T'ank you so very much, Stitch, but wese gotta get back ta da lodgin' house 'fore old Kloppman locks da doors."_

_"Of course, Tumbler. It was nice to meet you, Blink." Stitch showed the two out of the theatre._

_"C'mon. I'se gots ta innerduce you ta da odders." The twenty minute walk from Irving Hall to the lodging house was made in silence. It was late, and Tumbler was tired after a long day of selling papers. He tugged his hat off and dragged a hand through his longish light brown hair. Normally he tied it back into a short horsetail, but that morning the piece of rawhide he used had turned up missing, and he hadn't had time to look for it yet. "Hey, Kloppman," he called as they entered. He dug two pennies out of a pocket and slapped them down on the counter. "Got a newbie here. Name's Blink."_

_"Call me Kloppman. All the boys do. It's two cents a night, but your first night is free. Tumbler, you can explain the rules."_

_"A coise. Here. Sign in. Jist use ya nickname. Dat way da bulls can't find one a us."_

_"Okay." He quickly scribbled "Kid Blink" just under Tumbler's name._

_"I t'ink da bunk undah mine is empty, youse can use it. Normally Cowboy would take care a da newbie, but wese jist got another boy yestaday, so youse'll prolly be wit' me while ya learn da ropes." He pushed open a door, revealing twenty-one boys lounging around a room full of bunks. "Ev'ryone! Shuddup!" The room quieted down as everyone turned to look. "Dis is Blink, anudder newbie. Da one wit' da cowboy hat, dat's Cowboy, or Jack. He's da leadah." Tumbler quickly named the other twenty boys, but Blink couldn't remember them if his life depended on it. "Don't worry. Youse'll get ta know ev'ryone soon enough. Right dere, dat's your bunk now." He pointed to the lower bunk closest to the door on the right. Blink watched Tumbler easily pull himself onto the top bunk and start digging through the meager bedding, looking for something. A moment later he popped back up and pulled his hair back, tying it with the rawhide lacing he found. Blink sat down on the bed that was now his, exhausted from the sleepless night he'd spent on the streets. Not long after Kloppman came up to call lights out._

*~^~* 

Tumbler looked up when Race hit his arm. "Show." Tumbler put his hand down, not even looking at what he had. "Dammit, Tumblah, how'd you do dat?"

He glanced down. He had two aces and three two's. With deuces wild, he had the winning hand. He collected his winnings, a dollar thirty, and told the others he was turning in.

*~^~* 

_December, 1887_

_The seven-year-old child looked nervously at the bigger, older boys streaming past him. One, who could have easily been the biggest, broke away from the group to approach the boy. "You here ta join?" The boy nodded eagerly. "I'se is Mikey. Come wit' me. I'se'll show you how ta sell papes. What's your name? You got a nickname?"_

_"Um... Tumbler, I guess. I used ta do tricks in da street," he said softly._

_"Okay, Tumblah, c'mon." Mikey led the small boy to the circulation center._

*~^~* 


End file.
